


It Runs in the Family

by orphan_account



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Overstimulation, Spanking, slight Breeding Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sick of his controlling father's ways Nigel drops out of school and moves out. A year or so after, a baby turns up on his doorstep, Will, a product of a one night stand.Years later and emotional wounds healed, Nigel pays dear old dad a visit, his son in tow. During their stay, Will begins to understand that certain inclinations run in the family.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Will Graham/Nigel (Charlie Countryman)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 166
Collections: 2020 Eat The Rude Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [disturbia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398223) by [pensee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee). 



> Partnered with the wonderful [BeesAreAwesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesAreAwesome/pseuds/BeesAreAwesome) with her amazing [art.](https://eattherudebigbang.tumblr.com/post/621587499036311552/photo-manip-banner-and-digital-painting-for-the)
> 
> Beta'ed by the lovely [nise_kazura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nise_kazura/pseuds/nise_kazura)
> 
> While I didn't pick the date this would go up I couldn't have picked it better myself, fits my terrible sense of humor perfectly, thank you ETRBB mods for this gift.
> 
> HAPPY FATHER'S DAY EVERYONE!

His apartment isn’t much to look at. Cracked walls, leaky faucet, the occasional pest that skitters across his floors now and then. He takes pride in it, regardless. As long as he can call the place his, it satisfies him.

He’s sitting on his beat-up looking, too-small couch, relaxing from a long day at work. He’d gotten the couch from a coworker who had been throwing it away. It was one of the few pieces of furniture he had that didn’t come with the place. A mattress, a small table the previous tenant left, the one chair that went with it—he’s lucky his landlord was too lazy or cheap to have it thrown. Or both.

A knock at the door catches his attention.Nigel doesn’t have any friends. It could be his landlord but the man rarely visits his tenants unless they’re behind on rent, and Nigel is square with his.

He is curious who it could be, but he doesn’t get up to answer the door. He doesn’t feel like dealing with whoever is on the other side. Hopefully, whoever it is at the door isn’t having an emergency and will leave when they get no response. 

After a minute or two the knocking ceases. When it doesn’t continue Nigel relaxes into the cushions of his couch again.

Until a small whimpering noise replaces the knocking from the other side of the door.

Nigel’s brows knit together.

“What the fuck?”

He crosses the small apartment to take a look through the peephole to find an empty hallway. But the whining continues. He grabs the metal bar he’d found and kept by the door, insurance against what might be lurking out of his line of sight. 

He cracks the door open and sees a baby’s car seat. He blinks, dumbfounded, all tension in his body disappearing.

Another whimpering sniffle coming from the seat pulls him out of his stupor. He pokes his head out of the gap in the door, searching for the culprit and finding no one, the hallway empty except for him and the _baby_.

He looks down at the basket again, contemplative, before grabbing the handle to bring it inside. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with the baby, but he’s not heartless enough to leave it to its own devices while he figures out what to do next.

Nigel carefully sets the carrier on his dining table, hand hovering over the handle for a few seconds, making sure the cheap thing won’t buckle under the weight of the seat and its fragile cargo. Once the babe is closer to eye level does Nigel get a better look at it.

The baby is gorgeous. Sure babies are supposed to be cute (they’re babies) but Nigel has seen some ugly fucking kids in his life. Not this one—this baby has everything going for it in the looks department, delightfully rosy and chubby cheeks that would look adorable bunched up in a toothless smile, a button nose, big beautiful blue-green eyes and perfectly shaped lips that were slightly pouty. The kind of kid you’d see slapped on jars of baby food, the perfect little cherub to catch a parent’s eye at the store. And Nigel would be lying if he said the little thing didn’t make him feel a little tender look at it. 

The baby comes with an envelope. Inside are a birth certificate and a note. The note isn’t terribly long but it’s long enough that Nigel skims over it. In summary, it says:

William H. Graham, the baby’s birth certificate and letter helpful supplied, was born from a one night stand he’d had a few months ago. The mother claims the baby is his, which might be the case, he hadn’t been the best with practicing safe sex at the time, too emotionally charged to care, maybe even hoping something like this might happen, if only to spite the snobbish and controlling father he’d left to live on his own.

He knew that not wearing a condom wasn’t the best idea, but she said she was clean, (she had been, later testing proved after Nigel had gotten his shit together) and that she was on the pill.

Clearly, that hadn’t been enough, the letter mentions something about a poor reaction with a new prescription or something to that effect but that doesn’t matter, what matters is he’s suddenly a father, if he’s inclined to believe this woman’s story. Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t. 

Which brings him an important decision: Should he give the little guy away? Nigel doesn’t doubt he would be a shitty father; he lives in a dump and he doesn’t know the first thing about raising a child. Sure, he’d help his father babysit but that was temporary, he didn’t have to watch it all the time and teach it things. And he would have to do it alone. And sure, his father did it by himself, but Nigel isn’t a sparkling example of a poster child, and Nigel would rather hang himself than go back to his dear old dad for help.

A piercing cry derails his train of thought completely. He gently removes the baby from his seat, (he knows it has a name but he doesn’t want to use it, feeling if he did he’d be moving into new territory emotionally. It’s a stupid idea, that a name could hold so much power, but he’s not stupid enough to test the theory at the moment). He takes great care to cradle the head like he’s seen others do many times and even done it himself once or twice when his father had taken care of “friend’s” babies as a favor.

He tries swaying with the little one on his shoulder, bouncing lightly every once and a while in hopes to calm him but he won’t stop crying. He checks the little guy’s diaper and finds his answer, or part of it. “ _He may be hungry too”_ his father’s voice chimes in his mind. 

Unfortunately for them, there doesn’t appear to be anything to help in either regard. He checks the hallway, just to double check that he didn’t miss anything. He didn’t.

“Fuck. That _bitch ”_ he hisses. Guess he’s going to have to make a quick run to the store to get the basics, just enough to last him until he decides what to do with the kid. It isn’t too late that grocery stores would be closed. Small miracles.

***

The trip to the store was rather uneventful, sans the numerous glares he received for bringing in a crying baby. Glares he returned with equal if not more heat, some that promised pain if they so much as sneezed at him. He nearly acted on that promise when some dickhead complained to him about the noise. The only thing that stopped him from bruising his knuckles on the prick’s face was that his hands were occupied. He got a good look at the bastard before leaving, promising to get even at a later date. The need for revenge is something he’d definitely inherited from dear old dad, though Nigel was a little (or a lot), more impatient with serving it. He could practically hear his father’s voice chiding him for his uncivilized behavior and lack of control. 

The thought tickled him pink and almost made him want to puff out his chest in a self-congratulatory manner for once again defying his father’s expectations. Which left him feeling in a better mood than the one he had come in the store with. 

Back at home, he’d found that in a brilliant stroke of luck he’d managed to buy the correct sized diapers for the baby.

Changing him had also been quite simple, despite still being upset, the baby hadn’t moved too much. Nigel thought it would be harder based on the last time he had to change a diaper, although to be fair his subjects had been much older than a newborn and much more mobile.

After the baby hadn’t ceased his crying Nigel figured the little guy was hungry too.

“ _God damn she couldn’t have at least fed him before dropping him off, what a useless bitch.”_ Nigel thinks.

Following the instructions on the back of the package, Nigel mixes the baby formula, leaving the boy in his seat in the meantime. He was sure the little guy would prefer to have it warm but he had no idea how to do that without out potentially fucking it up, the package giving no instruction on how to do that, even if it he’s not sure if the risk is worth the reward if it comes out wrong. He remembers his dad telling him that one had to be careful when heating up a bottle because you could accidentally scald the baby’s throat. But of course he couldn’t fucking remember if he’d told him how to do it. He probably did, Nigel had most likely tuned him out, probably sometime after he’d started discussing the various methods and key points of making homemade formula. 

The baby took the bottle without affair, apparently, a-okay with cold formula and Nigel breathed a sigh of relief.

Now that the apartment is quiet again, Nigel can think of what to do with the baby currently resting and eating in his arms. 

Give him away? Or keep him? 

Does he even want to be a father, now or ever? He’s never really thought about it, but he thinks that eventually, he might want to be. To have a little person running around his home who he’ll adore and will hopefully love him just as much. As much as he hates it, a part of him likes the idea of being able to shape a whole person, that a part of him will be out in the world after he’s died. The thought makes him feel like his father and it turns his stomach. If he has a child he wouldn’t be controlling like him, that’s for sure.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He _has_ a child _currently._ Will he take the opportunity to be that father now? Or will he wait for a better point in his life, one where he’s not living in such a shitty place by himself? His father had done it alone but he also had much better means to do it with, and had certainly not been as young and ill-prepared.

The thought sets something ablaze in Nigel, old flames of anger catching and relighting. So fucking what if his father had more money at his disposal? That meant shit all, he would be a better father if it killed him and he wouldn’t let money be the thing to stop him, that’s for fucking sure. So what if he’d spent time researching child rearing tips and practices to better prepare, Nigel could do that too.

He looks down at the baby in his arms. 

Will. 

In those blue depths that stare back is a blankness almost complete except for the small glow of contentment. Pride rushes to the forefront of his tumultuous sea of emotions. Being able to provide for this little creature, to make him happy with something so simple, is a heady feeling. He wants to keep feeling this way. That’s the moment he _knows_ he’s not going to be giving him up.

***

He calls into work the next day, using the payphone near his building to explain what happened and ask if he could have the next week or so off while he figures out what he’ll do with who will be watching Will while he’s at work. His manager is understanding and grants him the time off, wishing him luck with it and to come in a week and a half. He thanks her profusely. It can’t be said that Nigel isn’t grateful when the situation warrants it. 

He almost can’t believe his luck, having been fucked more than a few times in the past year or so since he moved out from his dad’s, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth when it presents itself.

The first thing he does is go shopping, getting more permanent supplies for Will, clothes, blankets, soaps to bathe him and other necessities. The trip takes a large chunk out of his budget and it makes him wince looking at the price on the screen but he tells himself that it is worth it. Will’s worth it.

A book for first time parents finds itself in his cart. It’s the first thing he grabs when he enters the store and he peruses it as he does his shopping, earning a glare from one of the employees stationed near the baby aisle. Nigel flips her the bird and continues on his way, taking delight in her dumbfounded expression and stammering. 

Will had slept the entire trip, content from a morning feeding and burping, once again surprising him with how little the boy drank. He was still using the same batch he’d stored in the fridge the night before after Will only drank around an ounce of milk.

Once he has everything squared away at home, he feeds Will again, (the manual’s section on feeding enlightening him that Will needed to eat very often and that sleeping didn’t mean he was still full—he’s glad he bought the book) checking his diaper before getting more reading done.

A week passes like that with him watching Will and studying the manual and others to glean as much wisdom he can while he has the time. He also looks for a nanny/babysitter of sorts within his price range on his current salary. 

Luck smiles on him once more.

He’d been checking his mail, cleaning the clutter of spam, and seeing how many letters he received from his father since the last time. Probably asking how he’s been, for every intent and purpose the ever-worried parent to anyone who would read it. He wouldn’t know, he stopped reading them after the first few pissed him off with the carefully veiled patronizing tone the words carried. He still kept them for some odd reason, sequestering them in his room in the box he had left from moving. 

It was during this routine sorting that he ran across Judith who had also come for her mail. Normally he didn’t speak to any of his fellow tenants, ignoring most of them when they’d try to start small talk with him, but Judith had begun talking about Will, who was snuggled up in a makeshift baby carrier he’d made from old shirts (another thing the book showed him). She mentioned her own children and grandchildren, offered to give him pointers anytime and that it would be a pleasure if he brought Will over.

He’d already liked her from the fact that she didn’t give him any pitying/disgusted looks for being as young as he was with a baby and no other parent in sight. The few times he’d go out with Will already giving him a taste of what was going to come. Judith didn’t even blink when told her he was raising Will by himself, merely gave him a look that said she’d guessed as much and didn’t give a damn.

So he’d asked if she might be able to watch him while Nigel went to work, and that he’d be willing to pay her what little he could for her time. She’d agreed though she said she couldn’t accept what he was offering and would do it for less with a promise that he would come over every once and a while on his day off and chat with her. Company was what she wanted most of all since her husband had passed and her children moved away and gotten too busy to visit.

“You’ve got a deal.”

***

Will is five years old when their pleasant, sometimes bumpy, lifestyle starts going to shit.

The store he works at shuts down and Nigel is left out of work. He files for unemployment and signs up for WIC in the meantime while he looks for new work. But he can’t find work and the unemployment checks and WIC allowance aren’t quite enough to cover his expenses, not with the recent rent increase. It’s fucking ridiculous what his landlord charges for the shithole place but it was one of the few places he could have afforded when he’d moved out, and better still one that hadn’t questioned a seventeen-year-old renting an apartment without a guardian. 

Despite it’s cheapness, the small amount of money he’s managed to save up is slowly being used up. And anywhere else he looks isn’t much better. He could certainly get nicer for the same price but he’d still be fucked.

Nigel can feel himself getting desperate and considers moving in with his father but shame catches him by the throat and chokes him every time he considers the option.

So he starts stealing, shoplifting at stores, being careful not to get caught. And it keeps him afloat. Nigel tells himself that it’s only until he gets a job.

They’re doing fine until Will gets sick and he can’t afford to take him to the doctor and the over-the-counter medicine he pilfers doesn't make him any better.

So he holds up a convenience store with a knife, and he gets arrested.

He sits terrified wondering if this will get Will taken away from him, that he’ll never see his baby boy again.

One of the men occupying the same cell tries talking to him, asking what he got arrested for. He barely hears what he’s saying too focused on a grim future. He’s snapped out of his spiraling thoughts when the man asks if he has a child.

His eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Your expression. You look like your whole life is ending. Now, armed robbery certainly will get you a good number of years in jail and it’s nothing to sneeze at, but there’s also a desperation in you that tells me you tried robbing them for something more important than for kicks. You don’t look like an addict, so it can’t be for a quick fix. I’m thinking child, it tends to be the case when you rule the first two out. And judging by the suspicion on your face I’d say I’ve hit the mark?” The man replies with a smile.

Nigel gives him a once over before replying “Yeah.”

“Hmmm. How old are they?”

“He’s five now, he’s going to be starting school in a few months.”

“Ah, I remember when mine were that young,” The man says reminiscing.

Nigel raises an eyebrow. 

“You have kids?”

The man nods. “I do, two girls, eight and ten.”

“What are you doing here then?” Nigel inquires, the bruised knuckles and blackening eye giving him an idea.

“I could ask the same of you,” the man says mirthfully, confusing Nigel. He knows exactly why he’s here but the man continues before he can think about what he says. “But if you must know they caught me fighting with a couple of pricks giving my buddies a hard time.”

“Did you win?”

“Damn right, or pretty much did, the cops showed up before I could get my last licks in but those were mostly for me. I was pretty pissed when one of the fuckers gave me this.” He points to his black eye, smiling. Nigel chuckles at the man.

A moment or so passes in silence, the conversation seemingly over before the strange man speaks again, “So let’s say you get out of this and you manage to keep your boy, what are you going to do?”

“That’s a big “what if” there. I doubt they’ll let me.” Nigel says cynically.

“You never know. Let’s say you do. What are you going to do?”

“Keep looking for a job I guess.” 

_Go back to my father’s house,_ sits on the tip of his tongue but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, pride not letting him give voice to it, not wanting to give in.

“And if that doesn’t work? You’re going to steal? Hold up convenience stores? Get arrested again? If they don’t take your kid now then they’d definitely take him then. How does that sound?” The man’s speech turned accusatory.

Nigel stands up, his temper spiking, he grabs the man by the front of his shirt and slams him against the wall. The officer watching them shouts and barks at them to break it up, but the man holds up a hand, gesturing that it’s fine. The officer hesitantly sits back down in his chair, watching them in case it escalates. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are saying that shit to me? You don’t even fucking know me.” Nigel growls.

“You’re right, I don’t know you. But I know enough about you to know that you’re going nowhere.” The man smiles cruelly.

Nigel’s hands tighten, his knuckles start to ache, the urge to punch this fucker in his mouth strong.

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” The man’s face morphing into something serious, his voice soft.

“Oh really? How so? _Please_ enlighten me.”

The man leans closer, and Nigel tries backing up but one of the man’s hands catches the back of his head keeping him there. He tries wriggling out of the man’s grasp, jerking his head and using his hands to push the man’s body back. The man hisses “Stop, do you want me to tell you or not?” 

Nigel stills.

“That’s better. Trust me, I don’t want to be this close and personal with you, you’re not ugly but I’m married and you’re not my type. We just can’t have the cops listening to what I’m about to tell you, I’m going to be vague but I don’t need them sniffing around me. Keeping quiet like this helps guarantee that. You seem smart enough to understand. Now I help run a very profitable business distributing certain _products_ to people,” the word drugs went unsaid but Nigel understands the man’s meaning. 

“And you want me to help distribute these products?” Nigel scoffed.

The man nods pleased his point gets across. “For now, yes.”

“There’s more?” Nigel says incredulously.

“Not for certain, but I think you’d move up the ranks pretty quickly, you certainly have the drive.”

“And why the fuck are you doing this? Don’t tell me it’s out of the goodness of your heart. That hardly seems like the kind of sentiment someone in your line of work should be expressing. Sounds like a good way to get stabbed in the back.”

“You would be correct. My intentions are not entirely without motive. I know potential when I see it and I seize those opportunities when I can. Now the question is do you?”

Nigel thought for a moment. 

“I do.”

“Wonderful.”

“Though it does me no good if I end up in prison.” Nigel stepped away from the man and sat back down on the bench.

The man nodded in affirmation, walking up to the bars.

“Excuse me, Officer. I think I’d like to take my phone call now.”

***

Nigel is released not long after, all charges apparently dropped by the convenience store owner, and Nigel is free to go as simple as that.

The strange man gives him a smile on his way out. 

The next day a letter is dropped off to his apartment. Or rather it’s tapped to the door.

Inside are two notes. The first was an address and time to meet, two days from now at 9pm at a local club. The second was attached to a few hundred dollar bills and simply said, “For your boy.”

Nigel takes him to the doctor immediately and puts him on the proper medication he needs.

He then asks Judith to watch Will so he can go to his “interview.”

Judith is thrilled, she had been worried for them the past few months, even offering to help but Nigel knew she didn’t have much either and he wouldn’t do that to her, he didn’t want to burden her. 

It’s why he hadn’t told her about the robbery attempt.

He tells Will that he’ll be staying with Judith this Saturday night, his boy laying in bed, still a bit feverish.

“You’re getting a job Daddy?” Will cooed up to him from where he’s laying in bed. 

“I think so darling.” 

“Does that mean you’re leaving?” Will looked up at him with his big doe eyes, shining with the start of tears.

Nigel felt his heart clench, his boy was breaking his heart. “Oh sweetheart, I’ll only be gone for a little bit. ‘Sides you’ll get to hang out with Mrs. Moreno. You like her don’t you?”

Will pouts. 

“Yeah.”

Nigel leans down and gives his boy a kiss on the forehead. It’s still warm but it’s cooler than before. The fact relieves him.

***

Nigel has to admit the club is very nice, it’s classier than the dive bars his coworkers had taken him to when he hit twenty-one. This one had more than one level and wasn’t illuminated with shitty fluorescent bulbs that occasionally flickered, with most of the lighting sequestered away in sleek lighting fixtures that bathed the room in a cool purple. Music flooded from the DJ’s booth, loud but not obnoxious this far from the dance floor.

Nigel’s eyes scan the club, skipping past the dance floor, knowing who he’s looking for won’t be there.

He feels someone approach him from behind before a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Hello Nigel, glad to see you’ve made it here alright.” 

Nigel turns. He doesn’t recognize this man. He glances around the man’s sides, and doesn’t see the guy from before. It doesn’t surprise him. He didn’t expect him to come get Nigel, the man had an air about him, one that said he was too important to be handling newcomers.

“I take it you’re the one I’m here to see?” Nigel says.

The man nods, leading him upstairs to a booth. Once they’re seated he begins explaining what Nigel’s job will entail. 

Basically, he’ll be in charge of distributing to a part of Fairfax, and is expected to _get rid of_ the competition every once and a while, and only if their boss thinks it’s necessary, they don’t want ahead of himself and go on his own. He was asked if he knew how to use a gun, to which Nigel replied no. The man told him to learn fast. He tells him that he’ll drop all profit off at this club, and tells him flatly if he even thinks about trying to pull a fast one with it he’ll regret it. 

Nigel merely rolls his eyes in response.

The man hands him a cheap flip phone and a note and leaves. Nigel takes this as his cue to leave, walking out of the club to the bus stop, reading the note on the way.

It’s from Darko, the mysterious man he met in jail, it addresses. It says the phone is his to use and that they’ve given it to him so they can get a hold of him when they need to, so it would be wise to keep the ringer on. There’s a half-assed congratulations in it and something about looking forward to Nigel’s progress, hoping he won’t disappoint.


	2. Chapter 2

His job is pretty shitty at the beginning, like most customer service jobs, but then he finds he’s really good at selling to people, at tempting them to try something they shouldn’t. And he’s starting to pull in some big numbers, figuring out where the best places in the area are.

It’s not just slinging coke that he’s getting good at. It’s the violence that he excels in. Every once in a while he’ll have to rough some guy up or take another out and he finds pleasure in that. And the money he’s making isn’t half bad. More than that in fact.

He isn’t the only one who notices. Darko catches wind and calls him in for a meeting, promoting him to work in New York. They have a larger population and from there he starts to take off.

In Fairfax they were living well after Nigel started working, no longer worrying about the next meal or bill, even going out to eat or to have fun, but in New York they thrive. 

In the years that follow Nigel climbs his way up the ranks. Eventually he gets to the top, sharing the view with the man who got him started. 

Darko was a numbers man with killer intuition and an eye for potential while Nigel was more hands-on. He enjoyed the tasks that catered to that preference. Darko would tell him what their next move was and what they needed to achieve that and Nigel would do it. They could do each other’s job and weren’t in a fix if the other wasn’t able to, but they worked best like that.

***

It’s when Will is fifteen years old that life decides that he’s had enough of a break and kicks him in the nuts. Frankly, its a miracle he’s gone this long without a major fuck up in his line of work. He’s seen some real shit in the past decade. 

It’s during a meeting between him and a member of a rival group discussing territory distribution over the east coast. One of the new members of their rival gets a little spooked, thinking one of his men is reaching for a gun he pulls his own. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened and Nigel doubts it’ll be the last. Unfortunately for him the kid didn’t have his safety on. So while Nigel talks down the situation and the kid is putting away his gun, it goes off.

He doesn’t remember much of what happens next except blinding pain and the distinct feeling he’s going to die. He blacks out thinking of Will.

He’s surprised when he opens his eyes again, thinking he never would.

He’s lying in the hospital. He shifts and a spike of pain shoots through his abdomen. He lets a groan slip past his lips.

"Daddy?" A somber version of his darling boy's voice croaks. Will is sitting to his right. He has dark circles under his eyes and his face is a little red and puffy from crying. It breaks his heart to see his boy so worn and worried over him.

"Hello, darling," Nigel says, giving a small smile, trying to mask some of the pain he's feeling. He doesn't want his boy to pick up on his sour mood.

Will smiles lightly at the endearment, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better than before," he says jokingly. Will huffs at him.

"What happened? They didn't tell me what happened, only that you were shot. " Will asks, his beautiful blue eyes shining like he may cry again, his voice getting thicker the longer he speaks. It makes him feel like shit seeing his boy cry. He knows that it's not his fault but he still feels responsible for it.

_Aren't you though?_

_"_ Someone decided to pull a gun at work," Nigel sighs. "Honestly he was all talk, the kid looked like he might wet his pants. We managed to talk him down but he didn't have the safety and it went off as he was putting it away. I ended up being the unlucky bastard to get that bullet in the gut." Nigel chuckles the last part bitterly. 

Will looks like he has something the to say but he’s interrupted

"Sorry to intrude but visiting hours are over, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." A nurse says entering the room and checking Nigel’s set up.

Will feels himself preparing to argue that it's not fair, his daddy only just woke up after being asleep for _days_. That he’d been so worried. 

He feels a hand clutch his and he turns back to his daddy. He’s giving Will another smile that is tinged with pain, one that his daddy tries to hide. The low timber of his voice is missing its smoothness, it crackles and comes close to breaking on words. "I'll be fine darling, why don't you head home and get some sleep. How did you get here? Did you drive?"

Will nods slowly, he looks a little guilty.

Nigel purses his lip. Will shouldn’t be driving by himself, he doesn’t have his license and Nigel doesn’t want his son getting arrested for driving without an adult. Besides, Will doesn't look like he should be driving at the moment anyway. 

"I’ll go call one of my coworkers and ask them to take you home, I don’t want you out on the road.” He doesn’t mention the fact that Will isn’t allowed to be, not with the nurse standing right there but he shoots Will a look, knowing Will will understand him and that he’s not off the hook.

He does but it doesn’t stop him from arguing still. “No, Daddy don’t! You should be resting, I can just call a cab.”

Nigel frowns. “No you fucking won’t, I want to make sure you get home safe and I don’t like the idea of you getting in some stranger’s car.”

Will rolls his eyes, he’s almost sixteen for crying out loud, he’s not a baby, his mind snaps. “I can handle myself Daddy, plus I’ve used a cab before,” he says flatly, his expression incredulous.

“I know you can darling, but please humor me? Please, it would put me at ease, I’m a little jumpy right now.” He’s telling the truth, he’s feeling a bit vulnerable too.

Will’s heart melts. It’s not often he sees his father as open as this. While he certainly isn’t one to hold his feelings back, the type to tell you if he didn’t like the look of your face straight to it. But Will knew his daddy would keep his emotions on a tighter leash around him. He appreciates the lack of input but at the same time it made him feel like a burden. So when he lets go Will can’t find it in himself to say no.

“Okay, Daddy.” 

His daddy gives him a pleased smile.

“On one condition,” Will says matter of factly.

“Oh?” Nigel gives him an incredulous look, the peek of a smile giving away it’s false nature.

“Let me make the call. I’ll call Uncle Darko.”

Nigel pretends to think it over. “Fine. But I have another condition. Do it here so I know you’re not pulling a fast one.”

“ _Damn, he caught me”_ Will thinks to himself. He smiles lightly at the fact his daddy knows him so well. 

“Deal.”

“Uh, excuse me, but it’s past hours, he needs to leave, sir.” The nurse pipes up, reminding them of his presence again.

Nigel throws him a nasty glare. The nurse’s eyes widen, he looks away and mumbles “Well, a few minutes past wouldn’t hurt.”

***

When the time comes for Nigel to tell Darko he's leaving he isn't pleased, but he doesn't give Nigel shit for it. He knows him well enough and he knows that Nigel doesn't back down from things unless he has a good reason. 

He does tell him that he’ll miss his obnoxious ass around the club though.

They move back from the east coast to Fairfax, Virginia. He tells Will it’s to get a “fresh start” after what happened, the moment too taxing on him. It’s a load of shit and he knows it and it’s not fair to Will but he’s not about to let his boy know what his father has _really_ been up to the past decade and the reason they're moving is so that none of Nigel’s associates decide to tie up a loose end thinking he’s seen too much and may spill for the right price. He thinks it’s very unlikely, Nigel’s proven his loyalty time and again, but he’d feel better putting some distance between them and New York to curb the temptation.

Despite it being one the poorest lies he’s ever told Will, his son believes it and tells him he understands.

Will doesn’t believe a word of the story his father has spun but he isn’t attached enough to the place they’ve lived. Which is sad considering he’s been there for a decade but it’s the truth. His daddy had been the only thing that made the place special and if he says they have to leave, then they will.

The place in Fairfax isn’t as nice as their previous one but Nigel isn’t sure how much he’ll get paid at whatever job he manages to find and he doesn’t want to drain too much of his savings too quickly. He wants to send his boy to college. That’s not to say the place isn’t nice—it’s much better than the shithole that he and Will first shared, but it’s definitely not the luxurious suite they’d had in New York.

***

He finds a job at a warehouse, stocking products there. It’s tiring work and he finds himself exhausted after each shift, too tired to properly enjoy his time off after work. He spends most of his days off, which unfortunately aren’t on the weekends, lazing about before repeating the same process.

After almost a year of the same shit he loses it at work and gets fired. That’s when Nigel realizes he’s overdue for a break. A coworker’s bloody nose probably shouldn’t have been his first clue. (But it had been satisfying.)

Will’s summer break just started anyways, and Nigel’s calendar is currently free.

He’s going through his mail when he gets the idea of where to go. It’s probably very impulsive, but Nigel is not one to stop his impulses often. Hence the bloody nose that got him fired. 

***

Nigel stands in front of the large ornate door. It’s been almost two decades since he’s seen it and it still hasn’t changed a bit, no new paint colors, no door decoration. He wouldn’t be surprised if the plants by the door were the same ones too, they certainly looked like it.

He feels nervous. He hates it. It’s not like he’s showing up uninvited. He messaged his father asking if they could stay for a few weeks and he’d received an enthusiastic yes. It certainly wasn’t out of the blue, either, he’d started responding to his father’s letters when Will was seven or so, his anger having faded by then, pride quelled by their improved living situation. He didn’t know what to say at the time so he merely sent him a brief note telling him he’d moved and his current address. He thought it odd that his dad hadn’t found out about this one (he hadn’t exactly given him the last address), but it gave him something to work with. Maybe his father had known it and had been waiting for Nigel to make the first move. Either way, it didn’t matter to him.

If his dad had been hurt over being practically ignored for eight years, he didn’t show it in his response.

From that point on they began speaking more, his dad sending more letters than receiving, which worked fine for them both. Nigel would just address them in bulk and that apparently worked for dear old dad. Even when emailing was much easier and faster they still sent letters. His father was old-fashioned in some regards and Nigel didn’t think it was worth the effort of switching. Or that’s what he’d tell himself, instead of admitting he liked the effort his father put into these letters.

What he could admit honestly was that he’d found that he liked talking to his father again. He’d missed it. His dad used to be his best friend and Nigel could feel traces of that time in the ease he felt talking to him. He had even gone as far as planning a visit to him on more than one occasion so that he could introduce him to Will properly. He’d never gotten around to it until now. He’d considered it progress at the time but now he wasn’t sure if that progress was good enough.

Part of the problem currently was while he’d told his father about Will, they’ve never met and he was almost seventeen. Nigel also neglected to share many details about his father with Will. Almost all of them really.

His heart races as he stands before the door, seconds passing as he thinks of all the ways he’s already fucked up and how much of a disappointment he’s been. He feels like a child again.

He glances to his right at Will whose fidgeting in place is obviously nervous. His silent suffering is beautiful and captivates Nigel, painful to look at, and yet he couldn’t look away. 

“ _Cut that shit out you dirty motherfucker.”_ He scolded himself. “ _Come on quit being a big pussy and knock on the door. Grow a pair and put on a brave face for your boy. It’s just a visit to your dad’s, not the end of the world. This is difficult for him too, at least you_ **_know_ ** _the person on the other side of the door.”_

He knocks on the door.

It’s only a minute or two in reality before the door opens but it feels as if time is crawling through quicksand with how long those moments last. When his father’s face greets them, time snaps back to it’s normal pace.

His father looks like he’s barely aged a day. His hair certainly is lighter and his face has more lines here and there but he’s still the same devilishly handsome man, the kind that is proper, intelligent, and manages to pull off the most ridiculous combinations of fabric. Nigel’s heart continues its pounding, a new reason for it, the heating of his face proof. 

Part of it, though, is that he’s still terrified. 

Will blinks owlishly as an older version of his father opens the door. The resemblance is uncanny, age his father up a few years and you would be staring at his identical twin. Will’s feels a pull in his gut looking at this doppelganger. He swallows the lump in his throat and clenches his hands.

He can’t help but stare at his grandfather, noting everywhere he differs from his father, drinking in every detail.

The man smiles, jovial with a hint of something darker to it that sends shivers down both Nigel and Will’s spines.

“Hello, Nigel.” Will's face feels warmer from all the blood rushing to his face from the sound of his grandfather's voice, another thing the two are almost identical in, the difference being the reserve of his tone, something his daddy doesn’t have much of, and its smoothness, his father’s voice is mostly unblemished by his smoking habit but it still has a raspy quality. His grandpa isn’t a smoker clearly, or not a chain-smoker at the very least. His accent is thicker, something his that’s most likely faded for his dad over the years but pops in every once and awhile, mostly when he’s mad. If he thought his father’s voice was pleasant to listen to, the way it carried in a rumbling lull, he is awed by his grandfather’s lilted timbre. Listening to it makes his toes curl.

“Hi, dad.”

His grandfather shoots his father an indecipherable look, one that makes his daddy fluster and glance at Will. His grandfather smiles ruefully, gives a small nod in what seems like acquiescence to Will but something tells him that this surrender is temporary. 

Whatever is going on between the two, Will doesn’t get the chance to parse it out. Not with his grandfather’s attention focusing on him. Will finds himself averting his eyes once his grandfather’s finds his, instead looking at the small smile his grandfather’s lips form. He thinks he’d rather not know what his grandfather’s thoughts of him are. He’ll have an idea, he can’t completely block out people’s emotions when he’s talking to them, especially if he’s still looking at the person’s face, partial as it may be, but this way he won’t see and feel as much. 

“And you must be William.”

“It’s just Will,” he says automatically, feeling sheepish after the correction.

Amusement creeps into that polite smile. “My apologies, Will. I will remember that in the future.”

The smile loses some of its luster. Will stomach curls thinking he’s done something wrong, but not knowing what it could be. 

“I’ve heard so much about you, it’s nice to finally put a face to a name.”

Will looks up at his grandfather in surprise. He realizes the displeasure isn’t with him and relief washes over him.

“You have?”

“Indeed. Your father and I write to each other and he’s mentioned you in some of his letters. Did he not mention this?”

“Not that I can remember,” Will mumbles. He wonders what his father said about him, aches to know.

Hannibal’s eyes slide to Nigel in cool assessment and makes a hum of interest. Nigel shifts a bit under the scrutiny, rubbing at his throat and the back of his neck.

The silence between them stretches uncomfortably for Nigel and he dislikes the feeling of relief he feels when his father grants him mercy, beckoning them in politely. He gives them a quick tour of his house, leaving their luggage by the stairs waiting, to take it up at the end of their jaunt around the downstairs.

The house is beautiful. Will and Nigel weren’t strangers to finer things in life but Hannibal’s home holds a certain decadence and character that Will admires with an almost childlike awe that Nigel looks at fondly.

It’s when his father is showing them to their rooms that he whispers to Nigel, asking him to meet him in his room after Will turns in for the night. It’s phrased as a request but his tone says it’s anything but. 

Nigel doesn’t argue, but as he stands before the doors of his father’s room, trepidation strong in his chest, he knows what’s coming. 

_The bastard didn’t have to close the damn door, fucker never closes it._

Nigel knew his dad was trying to get the upper hand before they even started with little things like this.

_Some things never change huh._

Well he’s not the same as the boy who lived here 20 years ago. He didn’t live for his father’s approval anymore. No matter how much he missed his father, things were different. And his father was going to figure that out quickly.

He opens the door and walks through without preamble, not hovering in the threshold like before.

Hannibal was seated neatly on the bed, looking mostly unaffected, a small glimmer of delight in his eye that Nigel wanted to punch off the man’s face.

“Hello, darling,” Hannibal said in a neutral tone, giving nothing away. Nigel twitches at the pet name but pays it no mind otherwise.

“Hello, Hannibal,” Nigel said, knowing that’s not how he wanted to be addressed.

Hannibal lifts a brow and purses his lips, expecting Nigel to correct himself.

He does no such thing.

Hannibal lets out a sigh. “Nigel,” his voice authoritative, “is that what you should call me?”

His past self would have flinched at the tone but he just shrugs off the urge, focusing on the satisfaction of pushing his dad’s buttons. 

“I don’t know, Hannibal, is it?” Nigel says, playing dumb, a smirk growing on his face.

“I’m not playing around, Nigel. You will address me properly or we’re going to have a problem. You’re already wearing my patience thin. Cooperate so we can move onto your punishment.”

“I’m not kidding around either Han-ni-bal,” he drags the word out, relishing the look on his father’s face as he says it. He’s a hair's breadth from getting violent, from losing control and Nigel just needs to give him that push. Nigel starts walking toward Hannibal as he speaks. 

“You want me to call you Daddy? Is that it? Well I don’t think I should, don’t think you deserve it.” 

His knees brush Hannibal’s and he can feel tension in the man’s body from holding back the urge to lunge. Nigel leans down so he’s in his father’s face. 

“You haven’t been good enough. Haven’t earned it, _Hannibal._ ”

Nigel’s vision blurs, he’s being pulled forward, landing on the luxurious comforter, his father’s hand gripping the back of his neck hard, forcing his face into the fabric. The other holds his hands behind his back in a vice. Age hasn’t slowed his father down either it seems.

Nigel laughs, the sound muffled by the fabric. It doesn't matter, Hannibal feels it all the same.

Pain blooms across Nigel’s ass cheek. He’s clothed but the fabric does little to absorb the force of the smack. His dad isn’t showing any mercy. He sucks in a breath.

He can hear the man’s deeper breaths above him.

“Where did that perfect control of yours go? Don’t tell me I got to you.” The remark rewards him another smack on the same side, this time harder. He didn’t know the man could hit that hard. Doesn’t remember him ever hitting that hard.

“Listen here, Nigel. You are not the one in control here, don’t pretend you are.” He punctuates it with a squeeze around Nigel’s throat. “You don’t get to decide the rules, you’re to do as you’re told and accept your punishment, is that clear?”

“...”

Hannibal squeezes Nigel’s neck again, hard enough to promise bruises later.

“...”

“I see you’re still going to be difficult.” Nigel feels his father shifting, and his hand disappears and a knee is placed between his shoulders. There’s a rustle of fabric before silk is wrapped around his arms and they’re being tied with his father’s ugly ass paisley tie. He’d struggle but he knows it is a waste of his breath, Hannibal has him pinned too well. 

It doesn’t stop him from being a shit about it.

“Oh, soiling one of your fancy ties? What happened to those cuffs of yours? You lose them? It may be a sign you're getting old.” The tie is pulled tightly, cutting off part of Nigel’s circulation to his hands. He doesn’t get a response other than that.

Nigel is yanked up to his knees by his hair and the back of his shirt (mostly the former), and his father guides him back until he’s standing at the edge of the bed. Nigel scrambles back awkwardly as his father moves him quickly, pain in his scalp encouragement not to delay. Hannibal makes him kneel on the floor then sits on the bed, pulling Nigel over his lap.

He has to strain to remain upright without his arms, almost all of his torso laying off his dad's lap, and Hannibal is not helping him keep his balance, occupied with shoving his pants down to his ankles.

He’s given no warning before the first smack hits him in the ass. Still as hard as the ones before, this one hitting his unblemished cheek.

“Now, I’m going to ask you to count. If you don’t I will keep going until you do. I’ll stop when you hit 70.”

The number startles him. His father has never gone that high before. Sure Nigel can take a beating, has before, but he wasn’t prepared for this. It’s going to be difficult to explain to Will tomorrow why daddy can’t sit still in his chair. He might not be able to sit at all, and Will, the clever thing he is, will pick up on that.

The first swat rips him from his thoughts.

He forgets to count and his father makes a disappointed noise. It’s on the second that Nigel starts counting.

“O-one.” He hates that he fumbles over the word.

The first dozen hurt pretty bad but he manages it with no more stumbled words. He’s almost through the second dozen when his voice starts to get raspy and he begins to pant a bit. His dad’s blows stay constant in their force, varying in timing so Nigel can’t relax himself properly, the anticipation making him tense involuntarly. When they get to thirty-seven or so his eyes start tearing up and his voice gets audibly thicker. He’s drooping, torso sagging a bit closer to the floor.

It’s only when they hit fifty that his Daddy speaks, “Do you know why I’m punishing you?”

Nigel swallows but doesn’t answer. _51_

“Well? I’ll add more if you don’t answer, Nigel.” Hannibal doesn’t stop his assault on Nigel’s ass as he speaks. _52, 53_

“Because I left,”

He gets a particularly hard smack. _54_

“No, while I wasn’t happy with you after that, it didn’t warrant punishment. I knew you would leave one day.” _55_

“I didn’t stay in touch for years, I ignored you.” _56_

“That was quite rude, yes but there’s more.” _57_

“Because I took so long to come back,” _58_

“And?”

“And I kept Will from you.” _59_

“You kept Will from me. You told me about him, but you didn’t tell me much.” _60_

“You kept something as beautiful as Will from me. That was selfish and rude Nigel.” _61_

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I-I’m sorry.” _62_

“Are you? Truly? Or do you just want me to stop?” _63_

“I’m fucking sorry okay?” _64._ This one is another hard one. 

“Language.” Hannibal admonishes. “See, I’m not sure if I believe you.” _65_

“I think you wanted to keep him all to yourself. I’ve seen how you look at him.” _66_

“I don’t—AH—” His father catches him lower, closer his balls, which draw up a bit at the promise of pain somewhere so sensitive. It brings attention to his groin and he realizes he’s half hard. He doesn’t know when that started. 

“Do not lie to me Nigel, not so blatantly. You really think I wouldn’t notice?” _67_

This one is back up to the meat of his ass. 

“You want to fuck him don’t you? You're ashamed of it, it’s clear as day.“ _68_

“So what? I’m not like you. I’m not going to fuck my kid just because I want to.”

“Why not?” _69_

“Because it’s wrong.”

“When has right or wrong stopped you? You came in here today and we both knew what was going to happen.”

“70. I’m done, let me up. Come on, you never break your promises.”

“That may be true, but I don’t remember saying I’d let you up after 70, just that I would stop spanking you. I could add more if you want me to, if you keep acting out of turn.”

“Don’t.” Hannibal raises a brow. “Please, Daddy.”

“Much better. Now, when has wrong really stopped you, dearest? You knew what was going to happen if you came here and yet you did.”

“You told me to come, and I knew it was going to happen even if I didn’t show. It was either here or in my room,” _Next to Will’s room,_ went unsaid between them. “That’s all. As if I want to get my ass beat.”

Hannibal makes a disbelieving hum. “Then why are you hard? If you were truly opposed you’d be flaccid.” Hannibal spreads his knees, it provides more support to Nigel’s front and gives Hannibal the room to reach Nigel’s member with his knee under his son’s thighs. It’s fully erect and leaking precum. Nigel fidgets in Hannibal’s lap when his Daddy’s hand grips him, loosely stroking around his dick.

“If not this, then what about your old job?” He knows Hannibal isn’t talking about the warehouse job.

Nigel stiffens.

“I know what you were really doing, and it certainly wasn’t desk work.”

“Pushing coke and fucking your child are two different things. But I don’t think you’d see the nuances of it.”

Hannibal merely hums. It’s neutral and Nigel wishes he could see the man’s face.

“How do you know he doesn’t want you to? What if he did.”

“He doesn’t. Will’s a good boy, a smart one, he knows better to get tangled up with me and my bullshit.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Hannibal tightens his hand to properly grip Nigel, languidly stroking him.

“It doesn’t matter if he did. I wouldn’t do anything.” Nigel’s hips start to twitch, his already ragged voice dropping.

“Are you sure? Even if he came to you, begging you to fuck him? What if he asked to fuck you? With those beautiful eyes of his pleading for you to give him the pleasure he desires? What you desire? Would you be able to turn him away? If he’s as brilliant as you claim I think he _knows_ you care for him as more than just a father. At the very least he has an idea, and I think he would use that to his advantage to get the outcome he desired. I’d say he’d even go as far as to manipulate you. I don’t think you could turn him away then. You’ve never been one to keep yourself from what you crave.”

“That may be true, but you know what I think? I think you’re full of shit. If he likes me so fucking much like you said, then why hasn’t he made his move? Hmm?”

He knows the bastard is smiling without looking. He’s not sure why, but Nigel doesn’t put much thought into what amuses his father. All he knows is it’s never a good thing for those involved.

“He may have been hoping for you to make the first move, or he fears that you would be cruel to him for his desires.” Nigel growls at the suggestion. He was a lot of things, but he’d never be cruel to his boy. “Or he may just be waiting for the right moment.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a few more minutes of argumentative chatter before Nigel is tossed on the bed, sounds of skin slapping against skin following shortly after. Will had wrenched himself away from the doorway as soon as his grandfather had climbed on top of his father. He was tempted to stay, but he had to collect himself. He could feel the need to groan, and that was his cue to leave.

He wasn’t imagining it, his daddy is attracted to him. It makes him feel giddy. And terrified. 

His daddy is also fucking his grandfather. Will would be lying if he said he didn’t find the idea appealing. He already had his sights on his daddy, and his grandfather was very charming. He had been delightful to talk to at dinner. He was attractive too. He wouldn’t be opposed to sharing a bed with him as well as his daddy. His cock gives a light stirring at the idea, his mind focusing on the look of delight his grandfather had given him when he had caught him hiding in the doorway. The glint in his eye when he had mentioned timing, coaxing Will into believing that now was that aforementioned time, better equipped with the knowledge that there was mutual attraction. 

Hannibal had probed his father for the information Will needed to make his next step and made it seem like it was a gift that had fallen in his lap by chance. Will doesn’t doubt his grandfather knew he was there before he looked up at him. He feigned the surprised delight well enough to fool anyone else but not Will. It awed him how well his grandfather could put on a show and pull the strings. His veneer of control was intoxicating and Will wanted to indulge him in his wishes.

***

The next few days seem to crawl by as Will waits for his plan to come together. He almost enjoys the anticipation if it weren’t so nerve-wracking, and even then there is a delight in that.

He fixates on his daddy more, watching his every move, catching signs that his papa has had his daddy. Sore muscles, bruises and bite marks not concealed, not for a lack of trying, his papa targeting difficult to hide spots for his and Will’s shared amusement and Nigel’s dismay. There were only some many places on his neck he could put a bandage and feign a shaving cut.

His behavior was Will’s favorite part. His daddy would get flustered about the tells, something he never did and Will adored it. He tried not looking at Will as much but when he did his gaze was more often than not wistful and longing. It made Will more confident and impatient each time it happened.

If Will was more tactile with his father these days, no one mentioned it.

***

Will waited outside the door, not unlike he had a week ago, except this time he wouldn’t be a spectator to tonight’s fun. 

“How does this feel?” His Papa’s voice drifted from inside the room, referring to the bindings tying Nigel’s forearms together.

“It’s fine.” His daddy answered back as indifferently as he could, tied up as he was, naked, his cock leaking from his grandfather’s earlier efforts.

“Good.” Hannibal takes a silk strip of fabric and ties it around Nigel’s eyes. When he’s satisfied about the placement and the tightness he backs away from Nigel. “Can you see?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“Excellent.”

A beckoning look from his grandfather has Will tiptoeing into the room. He slides up to his Papa, giving him an affectionate kiss on the lips. He receives a warm smile.

He waits patiently by the bed as his Papa prepares his father, taking care to be quiet lest they give away the surprise too early. 

His pants start tenting uncomfortably in his pants listening to his daddy moan as his Papa fingers him, teasing him. He looks stunning, his skin flushed and a light coating of sweat starting to glisten. His mouth is agape and his lips swollen from his Papa’s kisses.

“Please, enough” Nigel begs, voice breathless, and it goes straight to Will’s groin. He stifles a whimper.

Hannibal looks over his shoulder at Will who is sporting a fetching blush, worrying his lip between his teeth. He silently asks Will if he should do as Nigel asks. Will gives a small nod, his eyes far too doe-like for the situation—and yet. It sends a dark thrill through Hannibal.

He pulls his fingers out of Nigel who protests. “Patience, sweet thing,” Hannibal says using one of Nigel’s old pet-names. Nigel snorts but doesn’t say anything. Hannibal slides off the bed to help Will remove his clothing, hands lingering more than necessary. 

He watches as his grandson takes his previous position on the bed, no hesitation in his stride, holding himself much like he himself would. 

Will caresses the backs of his daddy’s spread thighs, admiring their strength. Notices how his daddies face scrunches up, mild confusion, probably noticing the difference in Will’s hands and Hannibal’s and trying to reconcile the information and if he’s merely imagining it.

Will lines himself up and pushes into Nigel, gasping at the warmth enveloping his length.

“Daddy” Nigel groans.

Hannibal creeps up to their position on the bed and lightly shushes him. “Keep going,” he whispers into Will’s ear so quietly he can barely be heard. Will does as he’s bid.

He pulls out almost all the way before sliding back home, going gently, watching the pleasure and frustration emerging on his daddy’s face.

“Fuck, faster,” he pants out.

Will hips snap forward in compliance, picking up the pace.

“Good boy,” his grandpa whispers. Will feels himself flush at the compliment.

“Harder, I can fucking take it, give it to me.”

Will glances at Hannibal.

“Give him what he wants, Will.”

He starts pounding into Nigel, going as hard and fast as his body will allow him. He can feel himself getting close and he can’t stop himself. Before he knows it he’s coming, filling his daddy with his come. 

“Daddy,” he moans out as he spills inside him. He slumps forward, resting his head on his daddy’s chest, enjoying the texture of the hair there.

Nigel tenses up immediately at the sound of his voice. He pulls at his bonds trying to undo the blindfold obscuring his vision. A hand on his wrist stops him, blindfold vanishing a moment later. He blinks at the image of his son resting on him, beautiful blue eyes curtained behind lowered lids, face flushed, a tired euphoria spread across it. His hole clenched involuntarily around Will’s still pulsing member. Will sighs lightly at the sensation.

He looks over to his father hovering over the bed, careful not to touch it. He wants to kill the man and it shows on his face.

“What the fuck?!”

Will winces from his position on Nigel, it makes him feel bad but he’s too pissed to deal with it.

“I can’t fucking believe you. No, fuck that I can, god I’m so fucking stupid for not realizing you’d put him up to this. Couldn’t fucking resist, could you? You couldn’t just fuck up your son, had to fuck up your grandchild too.”

“I may have had a hand in this but I did not ‘put him up to this.’”

“Bullshit, Hannibal, you’re always putting yourself in places you don’t belong and you want to tell me after all that shit you asked me last week that this was Will’s idea? I’m not a fucking idiot despite what most people think.”

“It’s true daddy, it was my idea,” Will says. Nigel looks at his boy, his gaze becoming soft.

“Will you don’t have to lie for him. Whatever he’s holding against you, it isn’t worth it.” Nigel throws another nasty glare at his father who merely smiles at him.

“I’m not lying. I saw you and Papa.”

Nigel swallows, “When?” His voice rasps around the word.

“The night he spanked you.”

Nigel blushes. 

“Which one?” Hannibal asks, humor coloring his tone.

Nigel throws him another filthy look and Will giggles. “The first one, the one where you told him how you felt about me. I saw the whole thing.” Will looks askance before looking at Nigel again. “I feel the same way Daddy,” he whispers.

“No. No you don’t, you’re just a child, _my_ child, you can’t be feeling the way I feel. I’m fucked up and you’re not. I made sure you weren’t,” Nigel denies.

“Well you’re wrong about that Daddy. Because I am messed up. And I love you. Don’t you love me, Daddy?”

“I do, but that’s different.”

“Is it?” Will pulls himself off Nigel’s chest, sitting up straight, he gives a small roll of his hips, jostling his cock inside his father, who moans at the movement. “Because if I remember correctly you were holding on to me pretty tight earlier. I felt how you tightened when you realized it was me.” Will thrusts in and out of Nigel in small motions, nonchalantly teasing his insides. “I know you want me too, Daddy.”

“I don’t—” he groans on a particular thrust that hits his prostate dead on, his cock releasing a drop of precum.

“Nigel, don’t lie to him”. 

Nigel growls at Hannibal. “You know, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself but I’m the closest thing you’ve got and I don’t want you near me right now.” He looks at Will and sighs. “I do, but that doesn’t mean shit. Finish what you started and we’re talking about this later.” He grumbles.

“Okay Daddy,” Will purrs. Nigel flushes at the name. Will always calls him that, but it’s tainted now, just like when he says it to his father. It shouldn’t arouse him. 

Will works back up to their previous pace, enjoying how his Daddy’s legs wrap around him, how his body vibrates, still keyed up from earlier, his body longing for the release it was promised but never delivered.

Nigel hears a rustling of fabric. His father is disrobing. 

“Oh hell the fuck no, you keep your fucking clothes on you piece of shit. I’m still pissed at you.” 

“Nigel is that any way to speak to your father?”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought that was off the table?”

Nigel glares at him. Hannibal laughs.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not going to do anything to _you_ tonight.”

He rubs a hand along Will’s back, making him shiver. Nigel kicks at him, but it doesn’t connect his father is too far out of his reach.

“You stay away from him, too. Don’t need you fucking him up worse.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Besides you’re in no position to stop me even if that wasn’t the case.” Fully undressed, clothes folded neatly on the chair, Hannibal climbs on the bed behind Will. 

“Motherfucker!”

“That was how you were conceived, yes,” Hannibal says smugly, startling a laugh out of Will.

“I swear when I get out of these—”

“Assuming I’ll let you out.”

“Papa,” Will complains on Nigel’s behalf.

“Darling boy, your father must have taught you that only good boys get what they want. Now would you say your Daddy is being a very good boy?”

Will’s hips stutter a bit, losing his rhythm, the question distracting him for a moment before regaining his tempo. “No,” he says quietly.

“No he isn’t. But I’ll tell you what,” Hannibal leans over Will's shoulder, looking at Nigel as he speaks. “Since your Daddy doesn’t feel like being a good boy right now you’ll have to be one for him. Can you do that Mylimasis?” Nigel’s eyes go wide, whether it’s from the endearment or what Hannibal is suggesting is unclear.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Excellent. Now I want you to take your Daddy’s cock and stroke him.”

“Like this?” Nigel groans.

“Yes just like that, use his precum to make it go smoother, just like you would touch yourself.”

“Better?”

“Yes, perfect.”

Will’s and Nigel’s breaths were getting shallower, Hannibal watched in delight as his beautiful grandson makes a mess of his boy. He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the bottle of lube he’d left there. He coated the fingers on his right hand, watching his boys reach their peaks, twin cries of ecstasy spilling from their lips.

“Will!”

“Daddy!”

He watches as Will pulls out this time, a gush of two loads of come leaking out, letting them catch their breaths, a boneless pile of pleasure, before he tentatively circled Will’s hole with one of his coated fingers.

“Papa, please, I’m too sensitive. And I don’t think I can come anymore.”

“Hush, didn’t you say you wanted to be good? You don’t have to come, sweet boy, just let Papa have you.”

Will doesn’t reply but he doesn’t show protest either.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I thought it was pretty clear. I’m preparing him.”

“Why the fuck are you doing that?”

Hannibal gives him a look that says “isn’t it obvious?”

“Can’t you see he’s tired? Leave him alone, you dirty old man.”

“I can see that Nigel, but I don’t care. Will can handle it, can’t you dearest?”

Will gives a small hum that turns into a moan when Hannibal brushes his prostate.

“See?”

Nigel rolls his eyes not saying anything knowing it’s a waste of breath and he can’t do anything in his current position. He could kick him again, now that he’s closer, but he knows that the bastard will most likely dodge and he can’t exactly go after him. Will laying on top of him doesn’t help either endeavor. He’ll have to wait and watch until the fucker lets him free.

It’s not long before Hannibal is slicking himself up and pushing his way into Will’s pliant body. Will lets out a squeak at the feeling but keeps still.

“Good boy,” Hannibal praises.

Will preens at the praise once more, already getting addicted to the feeling.

Hannibal starts moving and it surprises Nigel with how gentle he’s being, going slow for Will’s sake. Fondness creeps in his chest that Nigel squashes.

Hannibal doesn’t keep the slow pace for long, taking it from gentle lovemaking to proper fucking that has Will jostling against him, moving him further up Nigel’s body so that his chin rests on his shoulder. Will’s cock twitching futilely against his stomach, interested but not ready to get erect after two orgasms so close.

Will’s moans and hiccups spill into his ear, his boy on the urge of crying from the overstimulation.

“Shhhhh it’s okay baby, you can do it. You’re a big boy you can handle it.” Nigel soothes not able to bear his boy crying. Tears wet his shoulder, despite his efforts. “Hurry up Hannibal.”

“Is that how we ask?” The bastard has the gall to ask.

“I swear to _God_.”

Hannibal raises a brow before slowing his pace and grinding into Will, pulling a sob from him.

Nigel rolls his eyes.

“Please, finish Daddy.”

“I know you can do better than that Nigel.”

Nigel curses at him instead. Hannibal reaches down and presses on Will’s perineum, putting more pressure on his prostate. Will shrieks at the sensation, as Hannibal aims for that spot over and over. Will comes dry, babbling nonsense in his ear as Hannibal continues to torment him through orgasm.

“Oh, please, Daddy, please come in him, he’s been so good for you, doesn’t he deserve your seed? I bet he feels empty without it, do you want him to feel empty?” Nigel’s face burns from what spilling from his mouth. Hannibal looks like he’s about to give in, and before he can decide Nigel gives him one last push. 

“Breed him, Daddy, breed my boy.” 

Hannibal groans raggedly, spilling into Will soon after. Will whines at the warmth filling him, incredibly sensitive. Nigel murmurs sweet nothings into Will’s ear as he comes down shushing his whine when Hannibal pulls out.

Hannibal lies on top of him, the added weight uncomfortable but not unbearable.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun now fucking untie me.”

Hannibal does so quietly and efficiently.

Nigel rubs his wrists, looking up at Hannibal.

“Later,” the older man says, before retrieving a pair of damp towels. He passes one to Nigel before cleaning off Will who’s drifted off to sleep. He wipes himself off with an unsullied part of the cloth before tossing it in the hamper. He lifts Will off the bed as Nigel changes the sheets, which join the towels in the hamper, not all of the fabric making it inside. Hannibal huffs at the lack of care but says nothing more. He places Will under the covers, slipping into bed with him. Nigel looks at the two, hesitant, before shrugging and getting in on Will’s other side.

If the two pairs of hands that find their way around Will’s waist brush, no one comments on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [pensee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee) for their gift of a fic [disturbia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398223) that inspired this idea.


End file.
